The Mysterious Sky!

I see it far on the horizon.

It bends around to float the clouds 

On the other side of earth.

It blends about me,

Allows the winds to blow my hair. 

It shines in the sun,

Completely still and reticent,

Icy blue and seemingly irrelevant,

But it’s touching you.

It’s touching me.

It disappears in the dark of night, 

Out of sight, and out of mind,

But it is never too far behind,

Never far away.

The Sky is here

Where it’s always been,

Listening in to the heartbeats of

Every human who’s ever lived,

Every animal,

Every thing that’s ever loved

Or been loved by the beautiful Sky.

It’s touching you.

It’s touching me,

Today.

-jenn

Beautiful JadeFace,

Who are you,

With your cypric-umber undertones?

Is it a mask you wear to cover your identity, 

Or is this statue a caricature of your strange personality?

The sound of your name falls up,

Makes snowflakes alter their hexagonal prisms,

Temporarily bends my heartstrings

To modulate the chorus my love sings to you.

But never mind this homage I speak,

Or these buds of baby pink tulips I bring 

To lay at your comely green stately feet.

You’re much too busy with bigger things, I see,

So I will turn and worship the sun,

Raise my holy hands to the cottonwood tree

That grows by the humble gray-water ditch,

That answers me by shivering its leaves in photosynthetic bliss.

I now blow a kiss to all the things that don’t exist,

And then to the few that do.

I blow a kiss to you, JadeFace,

And say a fond adieu to you,

In search of the next great artifact,

That proves to me that I’m not that, either.

But each and every time I return.

I regress to the place in my own mind,

Where the sun shone on me once,

And spoke my name,

Where the wind sang and my brain entrained ,

And I wonder why I ever bother to be sidetracked from

This incredible peaceful trance

Where love beats out in binaural trance tones

Directly deeeeeeply assuring me,

Straightaway to my heart and soul.

-jenn

 The Discrete Ratio

Embedded within 

The Flower of Life

Begs your forgiveness,

Modestly retires,

And leaves you to count to ten.

What was it you were mad at, again?

Maybe it was something you have done, too?

Maybe you should go back to look for 

The Discrete Ratio, 

And beg her to forgive you?

Is she not there, asleep in her room?

But draw the sound of the Andean Flute

In the fog upon her window pane,

And tonight when the moon stops atop

The clouded standstill,

And time freezes over, maybe this wistful missive will, too,

And maybe the sound of it hitting the ground

When it thaws

Will bring her back to you.

-jenn